


Hollyhock

by TalesOfOnyxBats



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 15:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18803446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesOfOnyxBats/pseuds/TalesOfOnyxBats
Summary: Locked away in prison, Kuvira has to face the possibility of death as a cluster of hollyhock and arum-lily grow in her throat.





	Hollyhock

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't decide if I wanted to do this prompt for Azula or Kuvira so I just did it for both.

She likes to face her problems head on. She can’t stand to let them just build up and take her over. This time around she doesn’t have much of a choice other than letting her problems grow and flourish. 

Quiet cruelly literally. 

 

The flower blossoms somewhere deep within her throat, an affliction brought about by having thrust herself into the spirit world so soon after tossing Baatar aside for ambition’s sake. For it her cell is littered with hollyhock and arum-lily--Baatar always has been fond of them. The guards can’t come up with any explanation for their sudden appearance nor why the petals keep coming back after having been cleaned, and she refuse to offer a word of a hint. She has let them imprison her here, she owes them little else, especially since they have her chained to the floor like an animal.

It makes her situation that much more uncomfortable. She can’t even have the comforts of a bed as she throws and coughs up flower petals. 

 

Kuvira has been plagued with the flowers for a good deal of time now and they seem to be growing worse. She wishes to talk to Baatar, but she can’t imagine the man actually stopping in for a visit--even if he did, she isn’t sure that they allowed visitors. She is certain that he resents her. 

 

It is a scathing, scratching feeling. Horribly unpleasant, even when the flower is just sitting there in the base of her throat. She can’t help but wonder what will happen when it grows too large. She thinks about it a lot as she lies on the floor of her cell. She fears that the vines and leaves will eventually weep from her mouth and snake around her neck. Or maybe they will burst through the delicate skin of her throat. She shudders at the thought. The mental image of her writhing on the ground haplessly as vines spill from her body. Perhaps it will simply suffocate her. 

She hopes that it will happen in her sleep.

 

And maybe she isn’t opposed to it. She doesn’t have much to look forward to in life. Even if they free her, where will she go? She has no home. No allies. No family. Who would employ a former dictator? Perhaps she ought to thank the flowers for offering her a way out; even if it is uncanny and grisley. 

 

Kuvira holds her fingers to the base of her neck. If she holds them there long enough, she can feel the pulsing of the flora beneath. In this way she has learned to estimate when the coughing fits will begin. The more erratically the pulsate, the soon her torment will begin. 

They beat rather quickly. 

She knows that she won’t have to wait too much longer. 

 

Within minutes she is overtaken by a harsh fit. The petals are rough as they expel themselves. A cloud of white fills her mouth and falls, drifting lazily to the otherwise dull looking floor. The fit leaves her tired and panting, staring at the ceiling. 

 

Kuvira dabs at her mouth, wiping away a arum-lily seed that clings to the corner of it. They haven’t come to clean up her cell in some time so she is surrounded by the petals. They catch in her hair and latch to her clothes. 

She supposes that it doesn’t really matter at all. 

 

**.oOo.**

 

Regardless of her guilt and willingness to surrender, they haven’t shown her much humanity but after another week, they finally yank her from her cell and transport her to an on-site hospital of sorts.

 

They stuff tools down her throat, doing little to numb or provide standard medical comforts to her. At least they are treating her, so she doesn’t protest. She doesn’t have the fight or willpower to do so anyhow. 

 

They disappear and she hears them mumbling. From the sound of it, she can get the flower surgically removed.

But would they let her?

Did they value her as a person enough to do so?

She imagines that it would be much easier to let her succumb to the disease and be done with her. 

 

Her hair falls into her face. She gets her answer when they lead her back to her cell. “Can I talk to him?” She asks before they shut the door. “Can I speak to my fi--Baatar?” 

They seal her in.

She is left to stare at the petals scattering her cell. They are all around her. They remind her that she is on her way back to the spirit world. She cringes because she knows that she isn’t a good person. Surely she will be cast to the more horrific sides of the spirit world. As best as she can with the obstruction of chains and cuffs, she wraps her arms around herself. 

Nobody else will. 

 

**.oOo.**

 

She closes her eyes and dedicates herself to focusing on breathing. She is lucky that she has nothing else to do. Breathing has become a task that required effort. If she does it the wrong way, a petal will get caught in her windpipe. She has already almost suffocated once. It was an intense thing, a spike of adrenaline as her body fought for air. A lucky spasm dislodged the petal. 

She holds it between her fingers. It is a hollyhock seed. She knows its shape. She knows that it has a small hole in it. She knows that it almost ended her. In some twisted way she has a demented sort of respect for the thing. 

She keeps it close to her. 

She thanks it for its effort to end her torment. She wonders why she had resisted at all. It must have been wholly primitive. 

 

It sounds weird, her breathing. It is labored and she can’t seem to suck enough breath in no matter how hard she tries. The flowers are obscuring the air passage too much.They come for her again and drag her out of the cell. This time she is deadweight, too weak to help them escort her to the hospital. 

 

This time she is removed from the prison entirely, she is transferred to a real hospital. They sit her down and look her over. This time she is numbed as they put tubes and tools down her throat. It is a kind thought but she had already been numb. 

 

“Do you want us to remove it?”

 

She thinks that it is a silly question. But she can’t say as much without getting herself killed. Instead she nods her permission. 

 

“Do you know what can happen if we take it out?” 

 

She doesn’t really care. She knows for sure that she will die if she remains. So she lies and tells them that she does know. That it doesn’t matter. 

 

“Your guards have mentioned that you wanted to speak to a Baatar. Do you still wish to do so?” 

 

Kuvira nods again. 

 

“Before or after the surgery?” 

 

She doesn’t have time to wait. She can’t nod her response this time so she wheezes out a quiet, “after.” 

 

**.oOo.**

 

Baatar leans over Kuvira’s bed. She sits up, feeling the base of her throat. She no longer feels the snaking of the vines. She sees the flower in a vase by her bedside. She takes a deep breath anyhow, just to make sure. A mistake. It irritates her raw throat and she is hacking all over again. But at least there are no petals involved. She feels Baatar’s hand on her back. 

It must be second nature to him. An impulse. She doesn’t understand his care but she doesn’t push his hand away. When the fit passes she inquires, “why?” After a pause she adds, “don’t you hate me?” 

 

“I don’t hate you.” He replies. “We have a lot to talk about, but I don’t hate you.”

 

“A lot to talk about?” Is he implying that he is willing to salvage something? 

 

“Perhaps we can work something out.” He confirms. 

 

Her brows furrow. 

Something is wrong.

She should be happy. Elated. This is the first and only good news she has received in a long while. But there is nothing. She is hollow. Empty. She opens her mouth to speak but she can’t find the words. It is gone, the pleasant tingling in her belly that usually came with Baatar saying something kind or hopeful. 

 

The weight of the doctor’s question finally settles in. She should have waited. She probably could have lasted until Baatar arrived to talk to her. 

“I’m sorry, Baatar.” Is all that she can muster. But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know exactly why she is apologizing. 

 

“It’s...well it’s not fine but I forgive you.” 

 

She wants to weep but she holds back. 

They could have fixed things. 

She could have loved him. 

She clutches the flower that had just been removed.

The feelings that have just been removed. 


End file.
